


Undefined

by Marie_Ciel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:45:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Ciel/pseuds/Marie_Ciel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville struggles with a question encountered by many a teenage boy- what are these feelings he is having, and are they that dreaded four-letter word, 'love'?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undefined

What is love?

It was a question that philosophers had pondered for centuries, perhaps even before the emotion was labeled with a word- from when it simply _was_. Love was a faceless entity that appeared differently to those who encountered it; it was large enough to fill the hearts of the generous, yet small enough to slip through the chinks in the armor of the cold and distant. It possessed enough strength to force such foolish humans to do strange things, and could act as a ward against evil and malice. Why? How? An intangible, variable thing such as love? What is it, and what could be done about it?

That was a question that nearly every teenage male of the human species grappled with. To deal with this problem, they could either focus on other things and simply ignore it, or they could suck it up and ask the girl out already.

This bald-faced explanation made Neville flinch. Somehow it was the very combination of words- “suck it up” and “ask out” and “girl” that he found particularly unnerving.

The seventh-year shrugged indifferently. “Just telling it like it is, kid.” He said, in a rather cavalier tone donned by many a seventh-year when speaking to a younger student. Not that Neville was much younger- he was a sixth-year, in fact- though this year's difference in experience at Hogwarts apparently justified the older student's calling him “kid”. Neville, meanwhile, was far too caught up in the idea of asking out a girl- a real, live girl!- to come up with an indignant reply to the other student's loftiness.

“Well, be seeing you,” The seventh-year looked at Neville strangely, but spared only a moment to do so before turning and walking away in a sweep of black robes.

Neville hung his head. What was he to do?

When the first tendrils of the feeling had begun to creep inside of him, he had thought perhaps he was becoming ill. He couldn't focus on schoolwork. Sleep evaded him in the night. There was something wrong with him that he could not identify.

Then it began to change.

He felt absurdly happy for a few days. That was it- a small spurt of euphoria, painting a smile on his face, adding a twinkle to his eye, a spring to his step. Nothing could possibly bother him- everything was perfect! All it had taken to bring about this change was one small, short-lived, seemingly insignificant event.

“Neville?”

Ah, that voice. So soft and gentle and sweet- light as a cloud and thick as honey. As soon as Neville heard it, nothing else mattered. The other cheery voices, the food and the company... it all blurred together and faded into a grey haze of insignificance. Who cared that Gryffindor had won the Quiddich match? The party meant nothing.

“Do you see something interesting?”

The charming lilt of her voice sent shivers racing up and down his spine, even as he remembered it.

“Um, not really, I was just... looking out the window.” The Neville at the party had scrambled desperately for something to say, something half-intelligent- bonus points for understandable English. He wished he could have said something more captivating, but considering the circumstances, as well as the fact that he was Neville Longbottom, he fared rather well.

“Oh, alright. I was just wondering if you had spotted a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. I've been looking for one of those. Only very special people can see them, you know.”

To that, Neville could only manage to nod dreamily as she flashed one of her tiny, shy, perfect smiles, and then went to refill her drink.

She had _spoken to him._

It was enough to send him on a days-long mental joyride, no hexes or potions necessary. After this wore off, however, it faded into dark shadows of loneliness. He felt greedy and selfish- he wanted to talk to her _more_. Thinking about her wasn't enough. He wanted to hear that angel's voice all of the time. It consumed his mind whole, no thought spared.

By this point, Neville thought he ought to confide in someone- someone who could help him sort out all of this feelings rubbish.

The person that happened to be sitting in the Gryffindor common room was Ron.

Neville sat down and explained everything to him- the loss of attention to school, the lack of sleep, the encounter at the party, the elation, the wanting, the loneliness, _her_. During the entire discourse, Ron listened attentively, nodding slowly every once in a while, looking deep, thoughtful- sagely. When Neville had finished, he gave one last decisive nod to himself, as if he completely understood exactly what was going on.

“Blimey.” He said. “You've got it bad.”

Now Neville was simply confused.

Through everything, there was a nagging sensation in the back of his mind, a worry that he could not quite remedy- was this, this feeling, love?

He thought he had better figure that bit out before he went too mad.

The first place he looked to find the answer was the obvious one- the library. In such a wide, expansive house of knowledge, the answer _must_ be there!

It took a while to find a plausible source- a dusty old dictionary. Some of the words were faded into lost memory, the binding loose but still valiantly holding onto its pages, and some of the pages completely torn out, as if the words they contained had made a past reader violently angry. Fortunately for its current reader, page number seven-hundred-seven was left intact. _Is this feeling I have...love?_ He read:

Love: (n) strong affection for another based on kinship or personal ties.

Neville blinked. Was that... it? He read it again.

Strong affection for another based on kinship or personal ties? The words fell flat on the page. They didn't make him feel anything. They were meaningless.

For a moment, he thought he'd just try the second definition- but seeing as it dealt with sexual desire, he reddened visibly and closed the book hurriedly.

Wish a sigh, he slid the dictionary back onto the shelf. Words were just words. Perhaps it had been pointless of him to come?

Still, Neville wanted to make sure of his feeling before he took any drastic action, such as trying to start a conversation with her. What if it was merely some fleeting infatuation? What then? He convinced himself that he would not pursue her until he had made sure this was really love.

The next logical step was to seek more advice. And not from Ron.

“Love? I used to think love was some sort of happy, fluffy, girly thing... but it's more like a monster.” Harry explained. Neville nodded- this made sense to him. “It just sits inside you, clawing at you until you finally do something about it.”

“What _do_ you do about it?” Neville couldn't help but ask.

“Dunno.” Harry shrugged. “I felt better after I got kissed.”

_Kissed?!_ Neville's head whirled. He couldn't imagine touching those heavenly lips...

He tried asking a few more of his classmates, but he never got much better advice. Their lectures were riddled with “um”s and “dunno”s, and as they spoke, Neville's hope for a solution died a little with each uncertainty.

Finally, he decided to ask a figure of authority- an upperclassman. He chased down a Gryffindor seventh-year and breathlessly inquired his thoughts on love.

Suck it up and ask the girl out already.

And so, there he stood, staring blankly down the corridor after the older student. How could he possibly ask her out? She- she might say no! Then what? Any chance of a future relationship of any sort would be ruined forever.

There still endured the question- was this love?

All he could feel was a turmoil of emotions, raging inside of him- like a monster. They were horribly confused, passion, anger, sorrow, guilt and loneliness mixing and blending and crashing together. This chaos and all-encompassing storm that touched mind, body and soul, was what the philosophers of old had called-

“Neville Longbottom.”

Neville didn't even have to turn around to see who it was- it was a voice he would recognize anywhere. He turned around anyway.

“You have a little wrackspurt buzzing around your head- they can fly in your ear and make your brain go fuzzy. Here, I'll get it for you.”

Luna Lovegood reached out beside Neville's left ear, her fingers closing around the air that supposedly contained the bothersome creature.

“There! All gone.” She smiled with a familiar twinkle in her blue eyes. Neville grinned back.

There was no doubt. This was definitely love.


End file.
